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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843250">spin the threads (and tie them together)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/balladofwolves/pseuds/balladofwolves'>balladofwolves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cat Potion!Geralt, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Destiny is tired of these two idiots, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Midsummer festival, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Canon Compliant, POV Third Person Omniscient, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Romance, We don't know her, aka ep. 6 does not happen here, but like light angst, they have made her Work but it is worth it, you know I have to</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/balladofwolves/pseuds/balladofwolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small tavern in Posada, a bard in search of stories and adventure meets a witcher in need of a reputation makeover and a friend. Two fates intertwine. </p><p>Or: A sometimes weary, sometimes amused Destiny watches Geralt and Jaskier figure out what they mean to each other.    </p><p>Written for the geraskier midsummer mini-bang.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>spin the threads (and tie them together)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>art by the very excellent, very wonderful, vebira. <a href="https://twitter.com/oh_cut_to_black">check them out on twitter!</a><br/>thank you to martistarfighter for beta-ing &lt;3</p><p>i'm super excited to have been a part of this very wonderful mini-bang and i can't quite believe the time is here! thank you to the organizers, the other writers, the artists. this has been a joy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a bard. Fresh-faced and bright-eyed and still so young, singing in a backwater tavern in Posada. He’s not well-received by the crowd - <em>that’s alright</em>, she thinks, bemused, <em>he will be </em>- and as he kneels on the floor to pick up the pieces of bread chucked at his person, the bard sees <em>him</em>.</p><p>The Witcher.</p><p>The bard doesn’t yet <em>know </em>that the man with the silver-white hair in the corner is a Witcher. He sees only a man who has hurled neither insult nor morsel of food his way, and so the bard approaches, swaggering and confident and unafraid.</p><p>The Witcher is unimpressed.</p><p>But the bard is undeterred. When he figures out that the Witcher is none other than Geralt of Rivia, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, the bard tags along on his quest to find the devil of Posada. He talks of reforming the Witcher’s reputation, of assigning him a new moniker, that of the <em>White Wolf</em> through songs that will reach all of the northern kingdoms.</p><p>The Witcher punches him in the stomach.</p><p>She’s not terribly surprised by the reaction. And yet, the bard does not leave, the way the Witcher probably intended. He remains firmly at the Witcher’s side, gets captured by the elves along with the Witcher, <em>defends </em>him against the elves.</p><p>When Filavandrel lets them go, the bard gets a lute and a song out of the ordeal.</p><p>“My name is Jaskier,” the bard tells Geralt at the fork in the road.</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>Jaskier grins. There’s sunlight in his hair and on the side of his face, and it makes the blue of his eyes sparkle. “Until next time, Geralt.”</p><p>He leaves still strumming his little song. A song that will soon be on the lips of every ruler, noble, servant, and villager on the Continent. The Witcher watches him leave until he can no longer see him, and takes the other path.</p><p><em>Well, this is new</em>. She taps her chin, intrigued.</p><p>And winds two threads together.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier and Geralt meet again. And again, and again, and again.</p><p>First in Lyria. Then Aedirn. Then Sodden.</p><p>Always with an exclamation from Jaskier that is both surprised and delighted.</p><p>Things like;</p><p>“Ah, Geralt, fancy meeting you here!”</p><p>“Geralt, we must really stop meeting like this.”</p><p>“Are you following me, Witcher? You know, if you want my company, you can always just ask.”</p><p>And Geralt will always offer a noncommittal grunt, but he’ll let the bard <em>stay</em> and accompany him on whatever contract has brought him to the village or town they’ve both found themselves in. Jaskier always goes, vibrating with excitement, thrilled to be in the Witcher’s company once more.</p><p>It unnerves the Witcher, she knows. Jaskier makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in centuries. It’s why she tied their threads together.</p><p>Because Jaskier, young as he may be - and young he’ll stay;<em> at least, in appearance, </em>she thinks, <em>for oh, that is elven blood running through those veins </em>- has wisdom beyond his years. He sees Geralt and doesn’t run away; doesn’t see something to fear, but <em>someone </em>to care for and value.</p><p>“Do you only follow me for your songs?” Geralt asks after their latest accidental run-in. Jaskier blinks huge blue eyes at him and sets aside his lute.</p><p>“Of course not,” he says, bewildered, like he can’t believe he has to explain this, but still patient, still kind. “Well, not just <em>because </em>of the songs,” he amends. “You’re my <em>friend</em>, Geralt. I like being in your company.”</p><p>Geralt just hums in response and Jaskier, for once, doesn’t pry and simply returns to tuning his lute. But the Witcher’s gaze remains fixed on Jaskier, and he lets his nostrils flare out experimentally -</p><p>And smells only truth, only sincerity - and no fear, still no fear, a fact she knows simultaneously confuses and pleases Geralt to no end - from the bard.</p><p>The next morning, Jaskier is swinging his lute over his back and running fingers through Roach’s mane, babbling merrily about how he’d be sure to have apple slices with him when he sees her next - <em>that’s another thing Geralt likes</em>, she muses, <em>Jaskier talks to Roach too </em>- when Geralt approaches him. Jaskier doesn’t see it, but there’s something like awkwardness and apprehension in the Witcher’s yellow irises.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier turns to face him, smiling expectantly.</p><p>And Geralt does <em>not </em>shuffle, but she’s amused to see that he <em>wants </em>to. “Heard of a cockatrice in Temeria,” he continues, gruff and low. “Should be a fortnight’s walk from here.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, the gears in his mind visibly turning as he parses through what Geralt’s said. They’ve only known each other a handful of months at this point, but it seems the bard has already learned how to read in between the lines of Geralt’s words and mannerisms.</p><p>And then Jaskier smiles. It’s big and genuine and wide, and it makes his eyes sparkle like the ocean on a cloudless day. <em>Beautiful</em>, is a thought that would most certainly cross the Witcher’s mind if only he’d let himself go there.</p><p>“Cockatrice, huh,” Jaskier says. “I’d certainly love to see one of those for myself. I’m sure the books at the Academy didn’t do it justice. Well, go on then, lead the way, Witcher.”</p><p>Geralt hums. “The Academy?”</p><p><em>Is he prying</em>? She thinks, with no small amount of delight.</p><p>“Why, yes, Geralt, I’m a graduate of Oxenfurt Academy. Studied all seven liberal arts. Although, I find myself wondering if our beastaries are even <em>accurate</em>, based on the monsters we’ve encountered together…”</p><p>Jaskier continues to talk and Geralt, incredibly, actually appears to <em>listen</em>. She watches, openly and unabashed, as Witcher and bard set off together on the path, walking almost shoulder to shoulder, Geralt leading his chestnut mare by the reins. This is - this is <em>new </em>and <em>different</em> and <em>unexpected, </em>but oh so very delightful, because this here marks a <em>choice</em>. A choice to remain in each other’s company; to favor intentionality over coincidence.</p><p>She knows, right then and there, that they will meet, again and again, for years and years, not by happenstance but because they make <em>plans</em> to meet; <em>choosing </em>to spend time in each other’s company.</p><p>Maybe they didn’t need their threads wound together, she finds herself musing. After all, people who choose each other tend to make that choice every moment, of every day, for as long as they live.</p><p>***</p><p>Geralt drives his sword through the kikimora’s skull with one smooth, fatal motion. The monster lets out a long, grating screech as it tumbles heavily to the ground, sword coming clean through the other side.</p><p>The Witcher is heaving deep, gravelly breaths, stalking forward to remove his sword from the kikimora. Adrenaline and the Cat potion he’d downed earlier are still coursing through his system, making his skin prickle and too hot and too cold all at once. It’ll be a while yet before Cat’s effects wear off; before he’s able to head back to the campsite, to Roach, to -</p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>Geralt stiffens at the voice. She knows the only thought going through his head right now is <em>no, no, no</em>. Over and over again. A wish borne out of desperation. One that’s quickly dashed when he hears the rustle of leaves and branches and smells primrose, sandalwood, and the mossy scent of <em>concern. </em>There’s only one person he knows who smells so distinctly of primrose and sandalwood - a mix <em>she</em> knows was carefully curated, both fragrances distinct but light enough not to irritate a Witcher’s delicate sense of smell.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles softly. His back is still to the bard, rippling with tension. “I told you to stay back.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t listen - <em>of course he doesn’t, when has he ever listened? </em>she thinks - and bravely steps forward. “You were gone for awhile. I got worried,” he explains, matter-of-fact and so, so earnest. Geralt still won’t face him, and that makes the bard’s brow furrow. The smell of moss gets stronger. “Geralt - are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you. Show me.”</p><p>Geralt wants to stop him, snap, snarl, but he finds himself strangely frozen in place. Jaskier puts a warm hand in the crook of his elbow, and carefully turns Geralt around so they’re face to face. The bard’s eyes are somehow even bluer in the faint moonlight, lips parted a little. His eyebrows hike in surprise as he finally looks at Geralt. “Geralt,” and it yanks at something deep inside Geralt.</p><p>He’s growling softly, senses overstimulated, everything just on the side of too much. This is the moment Geralt’s been dreading, she knows. The moment Jaskier sees him hopped up on Cat, eyes bottomless pits of black and veins thick and dark protruding on his face, and finally starts to smell of fear.</p><p>But Jaskier is full of surprises. Really, it’s quite astonishing to her that Geralt has yet to figure out that Jaskier is <em>not</em> typical, not run-of-the-mill; that he enjoys flying in the face of any preconceived notions and expectations others might have for him. Yet Geralt’s slower heart rate still spikes when Jaskier moves closer, slowly bringing up a hand to delicately cup the Witcher’s jaw. It’s such a tender gesture it sends Geralt’s heart fluttering once more.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs again, and Geralt finally meets the bard’s gaze. “Tell me what’s going on. Let me help you.” The Witcher swallows heavily. There’s only concern and affection and...something else - something much deeper, something Geralt isn’t quite ready to contemplate just yet - in the depths of those ocean irises.</p><p>And no fear. There’s never any fear. Probably never will be, he realizes belatedly, if Jaskier can look at him when he’s like <em>this</em> - at the height of his own monstrosity - and still only smell of sweet primrose and sandalwood.</p><p>Geralt manages a jerky nod. “It’s...one of my potions,” he begins with great difficulty. “It heightens my senses, makes me faster, stronger. Everything is…it feels...” he trails off, frustrated, unable to find the right words. Another growl builds low in his throat and his skin feels like it’s been pulled taut, too tight over his bones.</p><p>Comprehension floods Jaskier’s expression, followed immediately by empathy. “Painful?” he finishes, and Geralt nods again. “You’re getting too much sensory input,” Jaskier continues. His hand is still on Geralt’s jaw. It feels nice. Grounding. “What usually helps?”</p><p>The Witcher manages a shrug. “I usually just wait for it to pass,” he mumbles, a gruff and whispered admission. And then, before he can help himself - before he can really think through what he’s doing, so overcome is he by instinct - Geralt leans heavily into Jaskier’s touch, a sound so much like a purr coming out of him.</p><p>“Oh, <em>Geralt</em>,” Jaskier breathes, eyes still wide but filled with understanding. Slowly, so <em>achingly </em>slow it makes Geralt’s heart leap up to his <em>throat</em>, Jaskier brings his other hand to wrap around the Witcher’s nape, running careful fingers through the delicate hair there.</p><p>She watches with barely concealed surprise as Geralt seems to <em>melt </em>into Jaskier’s soft touch, letting out a small, pleased hum. “Jaskier,” he rasps, veritably <em>nuzzling </em>into the bard’s neck.</p><p>“Shhh, just close your eyes, darling,” Jaskier soothes, voice honey-sweet, like silk and velvet, “just relax. I have you. I have you.”</p><p>The Witcher does as he’s told, mind carefully blank, his focus only on Jaskier’s touch, Jaskier’s soft whispers, Jaskier’s scent. Cat’s effect begins to recede. But the way Jaskier makes him feel stays with Geralt, its mark indelibly tattooed on his heart.</p><p>***</p><p>Geralt and Jaskier sleep together for the first time about three years into their acquaintance.</p><p>It was only a matter of time, really, before they tumbled into bed. That attraction was always there, simmering under the surface - more obvious in Jaskier, perhaps, but she’s seen the way Geralt looks at him, when the bard is preoccupied with one thing or another. The way those golden eyes flicker over peach-pink lips, trace the delicate curve of Jaskier’s neck, and down towards the downy chest hair that’s always peeking from the collars of his chemise. How they roam with well-concealed hunger over those long, lute-calloused fingers, that slender waist, the curve of the bard’s ass.</p><p>Jaskier never notices, his head too often bent over his lute, but Geralt will grit his teeth as he subtly and skillfully tugs at his breeches, making space for the hardening line of his cock.</p><p>Really, all that unresolved tension was always going to come to a head.</p><p>She just never really expected <em>Geralt </em>to be the one to initiate.</p><p>“Oh fuck, <em>finally</em>,” Jaskier gasps out as Geralt kisses and bites down that throat, tugging the emerald green doublet off and nearly ripping the chemise off of Jaskier’s body in the process. “You have no idea how long I’ve been - <em>ah, hmm </em>- waiting for this.”</p><p>Geralt hides a smirk against Jaskier’s chest as he bears the bard down to the bedroll and presses their bodies flush together. “I have some idea,” he replies wryly. The Witcher sits back on his haunches. “Are you going to keep talking or are you finally going to show me if your reputation in bed is well-deserved?”</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes flash, alight with mirth. It doesn’t escape him that Geralt is very rarely this talkative. “Oh, I’ll show you alright,” he promises, grabbing Geralt’s medallion and dragging the Witcher back on top of him. “I am an <em>excellent </em>lover. Prepare to have your mind absolutely blown away, Witcher.”</p><p>And though Geralt will likely never admit it out loud, Jaskier does indeed make good on his promise.</p><p>***</p><p>Along the way, they find themselves in Cintra for a betrothal banquet. Jaskier wears a golden doublet and he sings and dances across the grand hall like he was born to be the center of attention. He looks too good, preening and gorgeous like that, and Geralt wants him again.</p><p>Then a cursed knight with an earth-shattering proclamation arrives. A battle ensues. A life is saved. Two souls in love are wedded, and the curse breaks.</p><p>The knight asks for his debt to be paid.</p><p>And then -</p><p>The moment she’s been waiting for. A prophecy whispered long ago in a town called Blaviken about a girl in the woods and Destiny, is finally set in motion.</p><p>Geralt claims the Law of Surprise. Pavetta vomits. And the implications of what Geralt’s done sink in.</p><p>He leaves. But it’s too late for that now. She’s already wound the threads. He is irrevocably bound to that child, a child who will have strength and grit and magic flowing through her veins.</p><p>Geralt’s followed by Mousesack, but the druid can’t convince the Witcher to stay in Cintra and claim his child. <em>It’s okay</em>, she thinks, somewhere between exasperated and fond, <em>he’s stubborn, and now is not the time. But the time will come. </em></p><p>Jaskier finds him later, in the room they’ve rented for the night. The Witcher is sitting by the hearth, whetting his sword. He’s shirtless, jacket and chemise tossed aside. Geralt doesn’t lift his gaze, doesn’t stop what he’s doing, doesn’t acknowledge Jaskier’s presence.</p><p>Jaskier’s not offended. He moves about the room, shrugging off his doublet, and carefully tucking his lute away.</p><p>A considerable amount of time passes by in total silence. She knows Geralt would never admit it, but he’s disconcerted. It’s unlike Jaskier, who usually feels compelled to fill every single passing moment with idle chatter, to be so quiet.</p><p>Finally, what feels like hours later, the bard speaks, low and quiet and warm, “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>There’s no judgement, no pressure in his voice. Only his trademark gentleness, that infinite well of patience he seems to have for Geralt alone. It makes something heavy and tight coil in Geralt’s stomach. “No.”</p><p>“Okay. What is it that you want to do then?”</p><p>Jaskier’s voice is still quiet, still soft and gentle. Geralt closes his eyes.</p><p>“I want to not think about anything anymore.”</p><p>There are suddenly fingers spanning the length of his jaw. Geralt opens his eyes; meets ocean blue. “I think that can be arranged,” Jaskier hums, and then there’s kissing, and the sound of clothes being shirked, and then there’s just skin on skin and heat and sighs and groans being wrung out of them both. Geralt’s mind goes delightfully blank, focused solely on the sensations of Jaskier’s body and Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier’s touch.</p><p>They sleep together again. It’s not the first time. It certainly won’t be the last.</p><p>***</p><p>Just as she’s suspected, once they finally fall into bed together, it’s like a dam has broken - Geralt and Jaskier can’t keep their hands off of each other.</p><p>In time, they learn what the other likes in bed. Jaskier and Geralt both enjoy fucking and getting fucked in a great many ways - alternatively hard and fast, and slow and deep - and find themselves to be extremely compatible partners. Geralt will leave bruising marks on Jaskier’s neck when he bends the bard in half as he drives into him, and Jaskier will pull at Geralt’s hair and make Geralt’s spine arch whenever he takes the Witcher from behind and it’s all <em>so good</em>.</p><p>They don’t really bother defining this added dimension to their relationship - <em>idiots, </em>she thinks with a resigned sigh - content to just continue as they are. For a while, it works. Both Geralt and Jaskier seem relatively unbothered when one or the other takes another person to bed. But there are no <em>feelings </em>there with those others, only a pursuit of carnal delights.</p><p>Then one Yennefer of Vengerberg enters their lives.</p><p>Jaskier is injured and she saves him, and Geralt makes a wish. She chuckles to herself as she winds another thread. <em>Oh, what a delightful set of events</em>, she thinks, even as she sees the hurt and the envy brewing in the pit of Jaskier’s stomach as Geralt and Yennefer’s paths cross again and again. As they tumble into bed again and again.</p><p>It’s no surprise that the bard is in love with the Witcher. Why, she reckons he fell headfirst into love all those years ago in Posada, when Geralt gave his coin to the elves. A gesture of honor, of kindness - an act of selflessness so rarely seen in a Continent filled with greed and narcissism.</p><p>She has yet to determine how Geralt feels about <em>him</em>. Perhaps it’s because the Witcher has never really examined his feelings for Jaskier - and that’s interesting all on its own too, because the Witcher is surprisingly introspective. But the only place his mind won’t let itself go is the Child Surprise - and Jaskier.</p><p>The bard, it seems, has a greater sense of self-preservation than he did a few years ago. He stops sleeping with Geralt when it becomes apparent that Geralt’s feelings for the sorceress extend beyond lust and mere infatuation.</p><p>Geralt tries to initiate exactly once.</p><p>“Stop,” Jaskier whispers against Geralt’s lips, gently pushing the Witcher away.</p><p>Geralt draws back a little. There’s a frown creasing his brow, and no wonder. Jaskier’s never said <em>stop</em> before. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Jaskier’s throat feels packed with cotton, and he swallows with great difficulty. “We shouldn’t - we <em>can’t </em>- do this anymore.”</p><p>The Witcher’s eyes widen, just a little. And is that...<em>hurt </em>curling at his mouth? <em>Interesting</em>, she thinks, <em>very interesting</em>. “You don’t want to,” Geralt surmises flatly.</p><p>“It’s not that,” Jaskier sighs with a shake of his head. His palm is still pressed flat against Geralt’s chest. Squaring his shoulders, he forces himself to meet the Witcher’s golden gaze head-on as he says, “but you’re in love with someone else, Geralt. And I won’t be a stand-in for violet-eyed sorceresses. I just won’t. My heart wouldn’t be able to bear it.”</p><p>It’s as close to a confession of his feelings as the bard’s ever made. A flash of recognition crosses Geralt’s expression. “Oh,” he says, and there’s so much <em>weight</em> in that one word. He retreats further. “I see.”</p><p>Jaskier’s hand remains suspended in mid-air for a moment, before he drops it back to unfurl uselessly by his hip. “Goodnight Geralt,” he murmurs, curling onto his side once more, his back to the Witcher.</p><p>He misses the way those yellow eyes stay trained on him, something haunting and full of yearning brewing in the depths of the irises.</p><p>***</p><p>Yennefer and Geralt crash and burn before too long. They’re both too similar in all the wrong ways, and too different in all the ones that matter. It becomes too <em>hard. </em>They are two waves crashing against another, time and time again, unyielding, until there is nothing but salt spray and seafoam.</p><p>The djinn wish complicates matters for them both; makes them unable to distinguish between what is real affection, and what is manufactured by magic. In the end, the parting is mutual; gentle and soft, so unlike the fierce and frantic and volatile nature that defined much of their relationship.</p><p>“I love you. You’ll always be important to me, Geralt,” Yennefer says. “But I’m sure you’ll agree that this is not working.”</p><p>He does. It fills him with a quiet kind of wistfulness. “I love you too,” he replies. “Knowing you will always be one of my life’s greatest pleasures, Yennefer.”</p><p>She smiles then. It’s stunning, just like the rest of her, and it lights up her violet eyes. “I’m sure we’ll see each other very soon,” the sorceress murmurs, stepping up to press a chaste kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “Until then - take care, Geralt.”</p><p>He closes his eyes at the soft brush of her lips against his skin. “You too.”</p><p>Yennefer nods, retreating to conjure up a portal to wherever she’s heading to next. Geralt stays, as he always does, but for the first time, there is no sadness brewing in his breast bone at seeing the sorceress leave. He’ll see her again, he knows this just as he knows that the sun will rise tomorrow, and so the parting is not sad, only bittersweet.</p><p>“Oh, Geralt?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>Geralt blinks out of his thoughts. Yennefer is smiling again, but there’s something distinctly…<em>mischievous, </em>even knowing, in the curl of her red-painted lips. “Perhaps it’s time you figure out how you feel about a certain bard of our mutual acquaintance.”</p><p>And she steps through the portal before Geralt has a chance to respond.</p><p><em>Oh, the sorceress is good</em>, she thinks with a delighted chuckle.</p><p>***</p><p>When Geralt works up the nerve to tell Jaskier that he and Yennefer are well and truly over, it’s on a pleasantly mild evening after they’ve made camp in Vizima.</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that, Geralt,” Jaskier says, and he <em>does </em>sound sorry. The bard cares, it’s no surprise, but it still sends a shot of warmth down Geralt’s spine. “What happened?”</p><p>“We just aren’t well-suited to each other as lovers, Yennefer and I. It’s...too hard,” Geralt replies, a little rueful. “Better for us to be friends.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>There’s a small pause, and Geralt can smell the hesitation, the conflict mingled in with Jaskier’s scent, as the bard bites his lip. He squares his shoulders though; decides to take the leap and say what’s on his mind, because Jaskier is, among many things, fearless in matters of the heart.</p><p>“Don’t despair, Geralt. There is no doubt in my mind you’ll find someone. Someone who will love and cherish and value you the way you deserve to be,” Jaskier murmurs, longing intermingling in his scent, and realization hits Geralt hard and fast, like a blow to the gut. He finally understands what Yennefer was implying and oh, he’s been <em>blind</em>, so gods-damn <em>blind</em>.</p><p><em>It’s you. It’s you I want, </em>Geralt thinks with sudden clarity, sick with yearning. The words are there, bubbling up in his throat, just begging to be set free.</p><p>He’s surprised by how much he wants to let them.</p><p>“Jaskier, I -”</p><p>“Not tonight, Geralt. Please.”</p><p>Geralt closes his mouth so violently he thinks he hears his jaw click. Jaskier’s eyes are very blue and very clear. His mouth is pressed into a thin, determined line, but there is pain there too.</p><p>“Why?” the question is out before the Witcher can help himself, and he sounds a little breathless, a little strangled, because of course, <em>of course</em>, Jaskier knows what he was about to say.</p><p>“I just - I just want you to be sure.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> sure.”</p><p>“So tell me in a few weeks’ time Geralt,” Jaskier says softly, reaching out to squeeze Geralt’s wrist. “When you’re not still reeling from your heartbreak. Things between you and Yennefer <em>just </em>ended. Tell me when the pain isn’t as fresh, and I swear to you, I’ll listen. I’ll believe you, and I’ll give you my answer.”</p><p>Geralt’s blood is roaring in his ears, a bittersweet mix of pain and longing and <em>hope</em> swirling together in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave it. She <em>knows </em>he doesn’t want to leave it. And yet -</p><p>“Okay,” he murmurs.</p><p>She thinks the Witcher has certainly learned a lot about what it means to love and be loved.</p><p>***</p><p>They don’t get to talk about it.</p><p>Nilfgaard is growing bolder, taking kingdom after kingdom in one devastating blood bath after the next as it goes. Ravaging, pillaging, and conquering. Moving steadily north.</p><p>Towards Cintra.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier says one night, in a voice that brooks no argument. “It’s time to get the child.”</p><p>And she’s pleased to note that the Witcher does not try to protest, for once. He knows the bard is right. The call has been a long time coming and, at last, Geralt is ready to heed it.</p><p>The journey to reclaim his Child Surprise is fraught, and not without its own set of complications, trials and tribulations. Jaskier stubbornly remains at Geralt’s side through it all, an immovable force, and Geralt’s heart will squeeze at the bard’s unfailing loyalty.</p><p>He knows, without a doubt, that what he feels for Jaskier is real and true. He wants to tell him; wants nothing more than to spend every day of his stupidly long life with the bard by his side; wants to kiss Jaskier and run his hands through Jaskier’s hair, and press Jaskier down into the softest furs and reacquaint himself with the planes of a body that Geralt once knew like the back of his hand.</p><p>Geralt <em>wants</em>. He wants with such all-consuming force he feels it embedded into his very bones.</p><p>But now isn’t the time. There’s a child to find and nurture and protect, and an old prophecy to fulfill.</p><p>When Ciri and Geralt finally, <em>finally </em>meet for the first time, it is like two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place. There is a hug and tears and promises of forever. Jaskier watches with chin held high and misty eyes, so proud and so happy he could sing with it.</p><p><em>And he will</em>, she thinks, bemused, <em>because what is a bard without a song? </em></p><p>Later, once they’ve made camp in a secluded area of the forest, Jaskier brings out his lute as Geralt whets his sword. Jaskier spends a few moments tuning it and strums a few idle chords, before launching into a ballad that is equal parts sweet and soft.</p><p>Ciri, interest peaked, joins Jaskier in his song, and he’s delighted because the Child Surprise has a wonderful voice on her, and it blends wonderfully with his.</p><p>And Geralt watches all of this unfold with an expression somewhere between exasperated and fond, and she knows he’ll think about how he’s never been as happy as he is in this moment.</p><p>***</p><p>Winter comes, and it’s spent within the sprawling grounds of Kaer Morhen. In the old witchers’ keep, Ciri trains, and becomes quite handy with a blade. She’s taught by a rotating roster of witchers. Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel, Coën, and Geralt, of course.</p><p>Jaskier adjusts to life at Kaer Morhen too. It’s bitterly cold, but Geralt had provided him with a thick, fur-lined coat right before they began their climb up the mountains and to the keep. The gesture had sent Jaskier’s ears burning and warmed him to the core, and he’d scarcely wandered about Kaer Morhen without it on.</p><p>He hits it off well with the other witchers, who delight in his songs and his sharp wit. Jaskier gets on particularly well with Eskel, the two often locked in conversations that are both deep and teasing. Eskel, it turns out, has a good ear for music, and so there are many nights spent in the dining hall where Jaskier strums his lute, sings a word or two, and asks Eskel for input. The other witcher never fails to indulge the bard, his suggestions often very good, and Jaskier delights and incorporates them into his songs.</p><p>It shouldn’t bother Geralt, that Jaskier and Eskel get along as well as they do. He should be thrilled that Jaskier’s carved himself a space amongst his brothers and with the only man Geralt’s ever known as a father.</p><p>And yet -</p><p><em>He is bothered, </em>she thinks. <em>He feels it should be <strong>him</strong></em>.</p><p>“What’s the matter with you?” Eskel asks Geralt one night, as they stand by the wall in the courtyard, overlooking the snow-capped mountains. “You look rather surly - well, surlier than usual.”</p><p>Geralt grunts. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a load of bullshit.”</p><p>There’s no bite in Eskel’s tone, no accusation. Just gentle observation. Geralt fights against the urge to pinch his brow. His brother is <em>too</em> good at this.</p><p>When Geralt says nothing, Eskel presses on, “You smell of jealousy, all the time, but especially when I’m with your bard.”</p><p>“He’s not my bard.”</p><p>“Gods’ sake, Geralt. You and I both know that’s a lie.”</p><p>There’s another heavy pause during which Geralt feels like there’s a weight pressed onto his chest. The air in Kaer Morhen is cold, but the Witcher barely feels it on his overheated skin.</p><p>“You know, he has eyes only for <em>you</em>, your bard,” Eskel murmurs. “He wants you. Go talk to him, Geralt.”</p><p>With a clap on his shoulder, Eskel leaves. Geralt stays in the courtyard for only a minute or so before steel bleeds into his resolve and he spins on his heel, walking down the stone-roughened steps, away from the courtyard and towards the library, propelled by instinct and deep-seated certainty.</p><p>Sure enough, he finds Jaskier curled up on one of the bigger armchairs, a thick tome between his hands, pressed upon a crossed knee. He’s reading intently, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, and Geralt can’t help the pang of fondness in his chest at the sight. The Witcher almost doesn’t want to disturb him, but finds that he must.</p><p>“Jaskier,” he calls.</p><p>The bard looks up, expression brightening. “Ah, Geralt,” he greets, setting aside the book - a bestiary. Jaskier, it seems, is intent on sharpening his knowledge of monsters and magical creatures while they’re wintering at the keep. “What’s the matter?”</p><p>Jaskier’s expression morphs into one of adorable confusion as he watches Geralt walk further into the expansive library, until he’s kneeling in front of Jaskier’s chair. “Geralt,” he murmurs, blue eyes trained on molten amber. “What’s -”</p><p>“I’d like to talk. About us.”</p><p>“Oh.” A pause. “I’m listening.”</p><p>“Jaskier, you - you’re important to me. I care about you. And I -” Geralt grits his teeth, inwardly horrified that in the moment he needs words most, he still has none. “I -”</p><p>Understanding floods Jaskier’s expression, makes his eyes seem even bluer somehow. “Oh, <em>Geralt</em>,” he breathes, and the Witcher suddenly finds his arms full of the bard, who is splaying eager kisses across his face and neck. “Me too, me too, <em>me too</em>.”</p><p>They tumble back into bed together, and Geralt knows, in his bones, that he’s never letting Jaskier go again.</p><p>***</p><p>They find themselves in Toussaint in spring, just in time for Belleteyn.</p><p>Yennefer has acquired an estate in the town, and Ciri will spend the rest of the season training with the sorceress there. It should be surprising, how quickly they took to one another, but Geralt finds that it isn’t. Yennefer has always yearned to love a child, and Ciri is more than worthy of that affection.</p><p>Geralt will leave soon to get back on the Path. He’ll miss Ciri, she knows he will, but the parting is made more bearable because Jaskier will be joining him. As the bard has for the last two decades; as he will for decades more.</p><p>But for now, the four of them are together, in Toussaint. The most unlikely of foursomes, she muses with a smile, brought together by forces greater than they can fathom, but remaining bound to one another by love and choice.</p><p>There are many obstacles, grueling fights, that they’ll have to face yet. Nilfgaard still hunts for Ciri, and Jaskier and Yennefer both have bounties on their head from their association with Geralt’s Child Surprise.</p><p>Today, though, today they are fortunate enough to be safe, and together, and able to partake in the celebrations of a most blessed festival.</p><p>“You should tell him tonight, Geralt,” Ciri says offhandedly at one point as they walk in direction of the festivities. Jaskier and Yennefer are a little ahead, engrossed in conversation that is most likely filled with good-natured barbs.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t pretend to misunderstand who the <em>he</em> Ciri’s referring to is, although he blinks, both amused and confused by her comment. “Tell him what?”</p><p>“You know. How you <em>feel</em>.”</p><p>“He knows how I feel.”</p><p>Ciri sniffs. “I’m sure he’d still like to hear it. Yen says the same thing.”</p><p>“You and Yennefer are talking about my love life now?” Geralt says, unsure whether to be amused or worried.</p><p>“Well we have to,” Ciri insists. “You’re hopeless.”</p><p>“Hm. Thanks,” Geralt replies, wry, but the gears in his mind are turning.</p><p>He and Jaskier haven’t really had much of a talk beyond his stumbling, half-confession all those months ago in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier, as he always does, had read in between the lines, had picked out his intentions, and had enthusiastically returned all of Geralt’s unspoken affections.</p><p>Geralt’s eyes flicker over to where Jaskier and Yennefer are, finding himself contemplative. Perhaps, Ciri is right.</p><p>As if Jaskier can feel Geralt’s gaze on him, the bard tilts his head up and meets his eyes. His smile widens, and he sends Geralt a saucy wink. It makes the Witcher’s lips curl up. Yes, perhaps he shall put into words what he’s tried to put in his touches, his actions, his lovemaking.</p><p>The festival is sprawling, filled with various attractions, theater acts, and stands selling flower crowns. Music, roasted meats, fresh ale, mulled wine, and other delicacies abound. There is laughter and dancing and cheering, and it’s <em>good. </em>The warm, sunny afternoon soon bleeds into a starlit evening, when Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and leads him a few ways away from the crowds.</p><p>“Something wrong darling?” Jaskier asks, a little breathless. He’s wine-flushed, his lips stained red, and there’s a crown of buttercups and daisies adorning his head that Ciri picked out for him earlier in the day.</p><p>He looks stunning. And Geralt finds he cannot wait one moment longer to tell Jaskier how he feels.</p><p>Pressing the bard close to him, he runs his knuckles softly across the planes of that ever-youthful face.</p><p>“Jaskier I - I love you,” Geralt says gruffly and with no preamble. “I’ve loved you - for probably longer than I’ve realized.”</p><p>Jaskier’s lips part and his eyes widen, before they soften once more. His flush deepens, extending all the way to the tips of his ear. “I love you too, Geralt. With my whole being. You know that, surely,” he says and the Witcher manages a nod. “Not that I - not that I don’t love hearing you declare your affections for me, darling I do, I really do. But what’s brought this on?”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “I’ve shown you how much you mean to me. I’ve been told I should say it too, and I agreed.”</p><p>“Bless Ciri and Yen,” Jaskier sighs dreamily and Geralt chuckles, low and deep in his throat, drawing the bard impossibly closer, expression serious once more.</p><p>“I love you, Jaskier. You have all of me now and tomorrow, and every day from here on out,” he says, and Jaskier positively <em>melts </em>in his embrace, a soft, “<em>Geralt</em>,” leaving his lips before the Witcher captures them with his own.</p><p>They kiss under an infinite starlit sky, the air balmy and perfect, the joy and merriment of the festival fading into background noise. They stay pressed close to each other for so long, Geralt swears their hearts could very nearly beat in time, witchers’ slower heart rate be damned.</p><p>When they break apart, Jaskier is flushed and smiling, and the sight feels glorious to Geralt. “Forever?” he breathes, and he doesn’t have to elaborate for the Witcher to know exactly what he’s asking.</p><p>“Forever,” Geralt agrees - a pledge, a promise - before drawing him in another kiss.</p><p>And Destiny smiles, and feels her work here is done.</p><p>
  
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